About Me

@scousebirdprobs

Liverpool

Scouse bird with a vodka dependency and an acute sense of social observation. Always self deprecating, always blunt. Follow me on twitter
WARNING: Non-scousers may not understand language of this blog.

Some of you might have seen me mention Mr Hot Gym Instructor. Hell, some of you are even doubting my loser credentials when it comes to fellas. Let me tell you a little story....

Over the recent festive period me and @susielovesvodka went on a little night out (no change there then) and ending up meeting some proper boss scouse lads in my local. They had the mozam out, we showed them how to do handbag vodka - it was a real meeting of the minds. You know the script.

Anyway cut to 4am we're all bladdered in town and after a swift trip to BK we all ended back up at mine. This never happens. This just isn't how I roll. So naturally the place looked like a shithole. Nice one. So this hot lad, who I hadn't even so much as club necked just nods at the stairs and goes "We goin up there then?" and I suddenly just lost any sense of being a lady and went "Oh ok then."

So I took him upstairs to yano, "show him my coin collection" which took a good while. I like to be thorough when showing my coins off. "I don't normally show my coin collection to someone I've just met yano." "Yeh yeh me neither." he said. Nice cliched reassurances from the both of us there. After admiring his mahogany toned body, I found out he was a gym instructor who hits the beds....hard. I was a pasty mess in comparison. I hadn't even lashed a layer of St Moritz on from the Home & Bargain or anything. Fit.

Meanwhile downstairs @susielovesvodka was entertaining the troops. Trying to get into her pyjamas she ran into difficulty when she tried to unzip her dress but couldn't reach with her little T-Rex arms. So she politely asked one of the lads to help her only to be told "Get here you!" and ragged into the bathroom by her hair. Kinky. At the time my bathroom light was on the blink and it was like a strobe light disco in there, poor lad flicked the switch and screamed "Aggggghhhhhhh!!! I'm epileptic!" which killed the mood somewhat so Susie went back to the couch to chat his other mate up and Mr Epileptic stormed out. The rest of them got chucked in a delta at 7am. Delta Fellas.

Anyway, a couple of days later I'm minding my own business coming out of Zumba class at the gym looking like a sweaty mess. The gym I've been goin to 3-4 times a week since May. Who's standing there in reception? Yep. Hot gym instructor. "I haven't seen you here before." He sounded suspicious. I looked like a stalker. I babbled something shit about coming here all the time and scarpered. Fucking FML.

Now I'm not one of these attractive gym bunnies. I don't wear make up to the gym. In fact my signature gym look is sweaty, red faced, hair like Einstein and full on lesbian clobber. This was disastrous.

So of course I bump into him all the time now, invariably looking like a lunatic and always saying or doing something stupid. Like for example the other week when I was getting ready for the gym in a rush and somehow I managed to spit mouthwash in my own eye. Don't ask me how, it's not something I think I could repeat. Dashing past him into class I say, probably far too enthusiastically, "Hiya!!! I just spat mouthwash in my own eye! Bye!" Smooth Boobleyboo. Smooooooth. I even put a facebook status up about it, forgetting that he was on my facebook. I panicked and turned into a Cyberman - Delete delete delete!!!

He got on my bus the other week as I was getting off, I couldn't just get off the bus in a dignified manner like I do every other day. No. I dropped my drinks bottle and it goes rolling down the aisle leaving me to chase after it while Mr Hot Gym Instructor ponders whether or not I am actually stalking him. He's everywhere. It's getting to the point where I feel like if I'd just done a really smelly poo my house would get burgled and he'd be the burglar.

When I'm drunk and I feel like there hasn't been enough humiliation in the day so far I suddenly start thinking that ringing or texting him would be an AMAZING idea, so good an idea that I can't believe I didn't think of it sober. This Friday things took a whole new turn for the worse when I took to DM-ing his mate on twitter with some stupid indecent proposal for him to pass on. Why??? Why???

Today I come out of the gym, so sweaty that even my eyelashes and ears are perspiring, and probably my knees too and he stops me for a chat. "Oh did your mate tell you about the DM's yeah?" I thought I'll go in with a pre-emptive strike before he gets the chance to buzz off me. "No he didn't, why?" OH FUCK FUCK FUCK! Foot in mouth once again. I don't know what's wrong with me!

I'm not the type to get hung up on fellas, if anything I've got a reputation for being a bit cold - even though I'm a proper softy on the sly. But there is something about this lad that just turns me into a full time weapon, he's like a scab I can't stop picking.

There's a fairly good chance he's going to read all this too. I think I'm past the point of caring, what else can I possibly do to embarrass myself? Plus the whole idea of this blog is to be self deprecating and embrace my inner Bridget Jones with open arms. So there you have it. That's the story of Mr Hot Gym Instructor which unfortunately due to my Zumba addiction is the embarrassing tale which just keeps on giving.